My Twats

Become a Fan

12/03/2016

I know, I know, I haven't posted in well over a year. What can I say? My life has been more than a little chaotic.

This post both serves as my final blog entry for Catherine Coaches and to introduce you to my newest blog Widowedat45. If you are as smart as I think you are, then you caught that I am now a widow. My husband passed away at the end of October, 2016.

So what does that mean for me? It pretty much means that my life is a huge barrel of SUCK right now and that I will not be returning to my work as a sexuality educator/dating coach/hands-off sex coach/and speaker. My business, Catherine Coaches, is closed for good. I'm made formal announcements on my desktop and mobile company websites, so any emails or phone calls will go unanswered. At some point I'll have to go through the hundreds of books and sex toys I have. I kinda think that might be a project for next year.

Over the years I've been writing this blog, I have gotten so, so many thoughtful and beautiful emails from people encouraging me, thanking me, and basically just being awesome. I'd really like to thank you for reading my blog and connecting with it on some level. I know in my heart that it is time to move on, but I didn't want to leave my blog in a state of perpetual hold.

Thank you for letting me be a small part of your life, and I hope you might click over to my new blog as I venture on this new, fucked-up journey.

08/05/2015

It's hard to believe that many of the friends I knew in junior high and high school have kids that are either in or entering high school. When my oldest nephew turned 14, all I could think was "Damn, I was doing some dirty, dirty things at that age." Of course, this made me a tad nostalgic for all the fast times I had at New Trier High.

Although I have an amaze-balls memory, I am not immune to my advancing age turning my brain into swiss cheese. I may be romanticizing some aspects, but I'm pretty sure things happened as I write them. After all, I account for my good memory due to me never having done drugs and I'm pretty much a teetotaler. I may have changed some of the time frames and names to protect my partners in crime.

I've never quite gotten the appeal of the sexual position 69. I usually chalk it up to having sexual ADD, but the real story is much more gnarly. I had always been very adventurous sexually, so when one of my partners suggested we try the 69, I figured "what the hell!" Before I go further, let me just remind you that my sexual coming of age happened in the mid to late 1980's---decades before lady and man scaping became en vogue. I was quite horrified when I noticed the inexplicable remnants of balled up toilet paper on my paramour's rear end. Seriously! I know stuff like this probably happens all the time and to the best of us. However, I was quite traumatized at my tender age. Please, let's agree to not talk about this again.

The romantic and my first love

I was blessed with having one of the most lovely and tender lovers early in my life. It helped that I was completely and totally in love with him. This was big love! It was the only time in my entire menstruating life where I thought that I would actually have a baby were I to become pregnant. For those of you who know me well, you know this is huge. I can say with certainty that a 16 year old brain (especially when in love) is not fully formed. My boyfriend, let's call him Josh, was a few years older than me and attended college in California. We met during the late spring and quickly became a googley-eyed couple. We waited a few months before finally doing the deed on the 4th of July. And before you ask, yes, I did see fireworks. Losing my virginity to him was just about as perfect and beautiful as anyone could ask for. We had plenty of privacy as he lived on a separate floor of a duplex where he lived with his family. There were times when we were making love and I actually thought to myself, "holy shit, I can't believe I'm actually doing it!"

Josh and I had a wonderful summer of love. He introduced me to a variety of positions. We did it in cars, hotel rooms, showers, couches, and, of course, beds. He also had this amazing ability to continue after he had cum. We had a successful long distance relationship whilst he was away in college. I was fortunate enough that my parents paid for me to visit him regularly during that year. We wrote near daily love letters to each other (Yeah, I know, I can hear you wanting to throw up), and he utterly surprised me by coming home for Valentine's Day. We did it so much that my mom diagnosed me with having "honeymoon cystitis" and made me an appointment with my ob-gyn to be put on the birth control pill. My gyno doctor also happened to be the physician who birthed me, but that is a whole other weird story. I'm not proud of the way I handled the breakup. I was young and didn't really know what to do, but I know that I blindsided him when I broke up with him. He took the break up so badly that he actually became physically sick. Josh deserved so much better than that, and I'm lucky that he found it in his heart to forgive me later.

(the pictures above are me during my prime high school boinking age)

The guy that was just too damn big

I know that there are size queens out there, but, let me remind you that I have an awfully tight vagina. Oh, but he was such a lovely man. It didn't hurt that he adored eating me out. He said he could stay down there forever, and I believe he actually meant it. Now, most of you know that I am quite proficient in fellatio. In fact, I tend to liken myself to having a PhD in it. However, this beautiful man's penis was just freaking huge. I remember seeing the fabulous Nina Hartley talk about porn and she quite readily stated that "there is everyday dick and special occasion cock. I want to get paid for special occasion cock." Oh Nina, my love, you would want to get paid for this one! The downside is that we rarely did it, but we ended up making out a lot! Hand to God, this man was the best looking naked man I had ever seen. And talk about caring. I'm not sure any of the guys I dated cared about me as much as him. It was the way he looked at me...as if he were getting drunk on the mere sight of me. Remember how I said he was caring? Well luck and my clumsiness would have it that I fell down a partially filled pot hole in Chicago on the 4th of July. I seriously fucked my shit up. This man carried me to the El station, and had his friend follow him in another car so he could drive me home and then carry me inside. No matter how much time has passed, I will always look upon our on and off again time with great fondness.

The guy I was totally and hopelessly addicted to

Oh my....where do I begin with this guy I'm going to call Alex. Alex was absolutely beautiful. He rocked everything I liked. Tall, slim, longish hair, blue eyes, big and luscious lips. I was drunk on his looks before we ever got down and dirty. The funny thing about Alex is that he had noticed me way before I ever became familiar with who he was. How do I know this? I tested him of course! He could recall the exact stairwell (my high school seriously had tons of different stairwells) I would take. He was also the very first person I had phone sex with. Holler! This is even funnier when I think that I did this on my physician dad's private number that he used for calls from the hospital. I wanted this guy in the worst way possible. It turns out that we were enormously sexually compatible (we fit together so well!) and I was hooked after the first few times we did it. We were shameless, and our booty calls lasted for many years. In fact, I had little interest in exploring sex partners in the first few years of college as I knew I would get an amazing sexual fix the next time I went home. Of all the guys I've talked about, Alex and I had less of a traditional relationship and more of a dysfunctional one. One of us would call, and it was me who would go running; running straight for his beautiful cock. But man the sex. It was absolutely orgasmic. Time with him left me very happy and satiated. We got ourselves into some of the most interesting positions, and yet it seemed to work. We would usually do it more than once when we were together, and he was definitely no 3 pump chump. It wasn't unusual for me to cum 3 or 4 times before he even came once. Like I said, I was addicted to him in a very unhealthy way. I knew that then and can clearly see it now, but, damn, the sex was just so white hot.

The guys who wouldn't fuck me

That's right, I wrote guys, as in plural. 3 to be exact. Things didn't work out sexually with each of these fine fellows, but for different reasons. But, for the record, I should say that I didn't take it hugely personally. Yes I was young, but I felt guys were lucky to be having sex with me. Yeah, that sounds conceited and all, but you can see what I looked like. I had a taut, firm body, was up for most things, and was a world class fellatio artiste. Seriously, I would have wanted to fuck me. Hmmm, well, I guess that would be considered masturbation, and I had a robust masturbatory life back in the day.

Thanks for joining me through this little trip down memory lane.

By the by, if you were to ask any of the above men, I doubt any of them would be surprised to learn about my life as a sex educator.

02/18/2015

As I try to ease my way back into blogging, I figured this kind of post would be mostly easy-peasy.

As you can see, I am a bit of a nutter.

I had the most amazing wardrobe in high school and college. I never even wore jeans with any regularity until college.

I recently purged about 1000 "friends" on facebook.

I suffered from cystic acne as a young adult. They were so painful and large, that I used to say they had their own zip code. 6 months of Accutane worked.

I own an ungodly amount of makeup, but only tend to wear lipstick, concealer, and sometimes mascara.

For as long as I can remember, I have never wanted children.

I had no clue as to what I wanted to be when I grew up. I only knew it would involve me being fabulous.

I embarked on my most dysfunctional relationship when I was just 17 years old. Curiously, we had super hot sex. It was truly amazing.

From time to time I use a high percentage salicylic acid cream on my body. Once, I forgot to wash my hands after applying and masturbated. I took me a minute to figure out why my vulval/vaginal area felt like Mississippi Burning.

The prescription tube of topical retinol cream I use on my face looks nearly identical to the prescription tube I use for occasional yeast infections. I had locked and loaded a full dosage of the retinol cream into the yeast infection plunger. Something didn't seem right to me. That's when I figured out I almost injected potent retinol cream into my very sensitive vagina. Holy fuck, that would have been exponentially worse than my Mississippi Burning incident.

I fear that I will never discover the root of my anal fixation.

Growing up, my family always had dinner at 7pm. We weren't allowed to watch TV or answer the phone. Being that my dad was a doctor, the hospital would page him if it was an emergency.

I'm super picky when I comes to my face, and have spent a small fortune using both medical grade and high end skincare products. I've been a devotee of La Mer products since the 1990's. It works! I'm 43 and still wrinkle free!

I've never once watched an episode of The Housewives, Keeping Up with the Kardashians, The Bachelor, American Idol, The Voice, and other uber popular reality shows.

I refuse to watch any current TV shows that includes a laugh track.

I wore my hair short all through junior high and high school.

Me around age 13

My hair is so thick that it can take me well over 30 minutes to dry it with a hair dryer. It's the main reason I let my hair dry naturally.

As I've aged, my eyes have turned from brown to hazel. Seriously, I find that shit really weird and slightly disturbing.

I always assumed people remembered me because of my uncommon last name. I've since been told that people remember my face.

I have my ears pierced, but, other than that, I have no tattoos nor other piercings--why mess with perfection.

I'm surprisingly domestic, and also a pretty good cook.

I get migraines that are so terrible that I would welcome a doctor drilling a hole in my head to release the demons.

I planned my 1995 wedding by myself. This was pre-internet, and auditioned possible string quartets via mailed cassette tapes. My wedding gown was spectacular and custom made in England.

Living in Colorado (1993 - 1999) depressed me. I'm not an outdoorsy type of person. Although it was quite scenic, I always felt trapped or suffocated my the mountains.

12/31/2014

Greetings from your long lost friend. I can't believe it has been almost a year since I have last blogged. What I can say is, that for the first time in over 2 years, my life seems to be quieting down. Don't get me wrong, I loves me a little drama, but my life was getting ridiculous.

I'm not sure how to explain it, but I don't think soul searching is the correct term. I guess I've been having a think about how serious issues like death and major sickness have affected me. One thing is for sure: I'm not certain I am the same Catherine. It seems so damn sad to admit that and even more sad to actually write it.

I'm someone who knows myself pretty well. I'm especially proficient with what I consider to be my faults or "things I need to work on". I know that I have always been a bit of a pisser and unruly. It's part of my charm and what makes me uniquely me. It's a bit like a swift kick to my vulva for me to fear that I have lost some essential components of my personality. I can only describe it as feeling less me. I'm absolutely less care-free, and a lot of the creativity that rattled around in my head seems to have gone missing. I'm also a lot less prone to giving a shit about certain things. Case in point, this blog post.

Just like my best friend, I have always suffered fools poorly. It would be lovely to break it down and me just admit that I'm a bit of an entitled bitch. Although it may very well be the truth, nothing in life is ever that black and white. Speaking of black and white, let me just touch on the very sensitive topic of race, privilege, and politics.

First things first. Many of you know that my best friend is an extremely smart (2 Master Degrees), handsome (Have you seen his pictures), athletic (He's a track & field star), and highly cultured (He's been to Gibraltar, people. To be honest, I wasn't sure if Gibraltar was a real life or mythical place) black man. He never refers to himself as African American, because, in fact, he is neither of these things. If anything, he is Canadian/Caribbean. However, he does refer to himself as the black sheep of the family because he is actually several shades darker than anyone else in his family. He is quite cosmopolitan because he comes from Toronto and Trinidad and Tobago, but attended a posh, private boys prep school in England. Seriously you guys, you have to see people's reactions once he opens his mouth. He has the most unique accent I have ever heard. The thing I love most about him is that we are two ethnic individuals who almost never talk about race and politics. It's not that we can't be bothered, it's more that we habve so many other things to talk about.

If you have been a former regular reader of my blog then you already know a bit of my ethnic and socio-economic background. For lack of a better word, I am mixed race. My father, and his father were US born Japanese American, and my great grandfather was the first Toyooka to emigrate to the United States. Even though my father and his father were born in the United States, he was cruelly subjected to a dirty little American secret that is the Japanese American Internment. My dad and eight other family members were converted from Buddhist to Catholics (he still had his first Bible with the hand written note stating he was now a Catholic), and resided for several years in what was formerly a single horse stall in the internment camp in Minidoka, Idaho. So you want to know the weirdest thing about all this shizz? I only found out about this when I was in junior high school. I didn't even find out that one of my aunties was born in another internment camp until I was in college! It's no mistake that my great grandfather dying in the internment camp due to a lack of medical care had a huge impact on my father becoming a doctor.

To me he was just dad, but to many, he was regarded amongst the finest anesthesiologists in the country. Indulge me while I tell you a short, yet appropriate story. Granted, the North Shore of Chicago (Winnetka, IL to be exact) is not the largest of villages. Nevertheless I was surprised to find out that one of my very best friends had known of my dad via her father. Her father was, and still is a medical attorney. Apparently, my dad's work was well known enough amongst the medical malpractice world that they had approached him to be an expert on more than one occasion.

My point being, and I believe I do have one, is that my dad carried on with grace and dignity. Growing up I never heard him talk much about the internment camp, and he certainly wasn't political about it. Even though he was 100% Japanese American, I never, ever got the impression that his ethnicity had ever kept him from achieving both great financial and professional success.

I say I'm mixed race because my mom was American born and of mostly German decent. The story I tend to tell is this: my white friends think I look really Asian, and my Asian friends think I look really white. Regardless of what Asian ethnicity I look like--and I've gotten the whole gamut--you can't get around my last name. Toyooka is a fairly uncommon Japanese surname, but you don't have to be a genius to see it and know it's Asian.

So why am I talking about having a sexistential crisis?

Ok, I'll get to the point.

The reason I am bringing up this stuff about my ethnicity is that I often feel like casper the half-asian friendly sex educator when it comes to the sexuality community. Only instead of riding a broom, I ride a huge jet propelled dildo. True story--I once found myself dumbstruck sitting in the audience at a sexuality conference where a rather large and white appearing panel was discussing the topic of harnessing the power of social media (something I had thought I was pretty freaking savvy at). I could not believe my ears when the facilitator specifically mentioned that they had difficulty thinking of or even finding anyone in the sexuality community who was of color and could be added to the panel. Seriously?! All I could think to myself is "ain't that some shit!" Is it possible that I'm simply not "ethnic" enough?

Here's my deal; I've only recently come out of a deep and seemingly all consuming depression. No thanks to my former therapist, but that is a whole other blog post. It recently occurred to me that the people who stuck beside me during these horrendous years have not been my peers. I actually had a friend totally and completely bail on me at the exact time I needed them the most. That really did my head in. I mean, I expect that from people in high school, but not from full grown adults. Actually, let me take back that high school thing. Besides some obvious friends who live locally, the people who really, truly rallied behind me were those I grew up with. There is a strong, unique, and real bond that forms when you grow up with people during those formative years of junior high and high school.

I've always navigated a bit of a tenuous relationship with those in the sex educator community. In fact, the community is not unlike social cliques of yore. I'd like to believe that it is not done on purpose, but I can pretty much guess (with accuracy) who will be hanging out with who at these types of conferences. And talk about bullying! Geez, sometimes I find I have no desire to open my mouth for fear that I will have to listen to some forced political correct diatribe. It's a bit funny to me that there are people who claim to be all about inclusion and tolerance when they tend to be the same people who shame their peers into being politically correct. It's like Tim Gunn on some surreal project sex educator; you are either in or you're out!

Don't get me wrong, I am not without fault! Yes, I've made some incredibly bad mistakes in the past--one in particular--, but I slipped my big girl panties on and apologized as quickly as possible and with absolute sincerity. In some ways I feel like I have never regained my footing after my mistake, and that is a damn shame.

I've long felt that I never fully fit into the sex educator community. I'm not sure if my experience is unique, but it's mine, and has been formed over the course of about 12 years. While I like to think that I know my sex education shit pretty well, I often feel like I am a square peg being forced into a round hole (without the benefit of lube!) when it comes to my peers.

I've tried being friendly and helpful to those who contact me, I make amends to those I have wronged, and genuinely want to be accepted by my peers. While accepted might be a bit pie in the sky, I would settle for acknowledged.

I think where things began to go tits up for me goes back to the basics of economics and personal privacy. Do not underestimate how little sex educators get paid. In fact, it kind of reminds me of college stories of people trying to stretch their money by eating only ramen or rice, did clothing exchanges, and anything else to get by. This can be a source of something that bonds people together. There was a time in my life when I lived paycheck to paycheck and one check basically went to rent and the other check went to credit cards. I did not enjoy the experience. It sucked. However, there was a light at the end of the tunnel for me in the form of my husband graduating with a PhD in electrical engineering. His education allowed me to take more liberty with employment opportunities. There have been times when I haven't worked for years, times when I made over $70k, and times when I made a whopping $11/hour. Can you guess which of the above salaries belonged to my first job as a sex educator?

It's well known that people who choose this profession aren't in it for the money. Most of us start out paying out of pocket for training, taking non paid internships, or accept very low paying jobs. In fact, it is not uncommon for many people--those who have been working hard for many years--to find that they barely scrape by.

and just what am I supposed to do with all this?

Not paying a reasonable salary to people who have had years of training and/or education results in something I have seen time and time again. Conferences and speaking engagements can be costly endeavours. To attend a sexuality conference, you must pre-pay the conference fees (it is more if you are not a current member) and cover your travel expenses.

Let's break this down a little bit more.

Conference entrance fees (must be paid even if you are a speaker) = $75 - $350

Taxi to/from airport = $45 - $100

or

Rental car for 3 days = $200 with taxes and surcharges

Hotel room (usually people prefer to stay at the hotel hosting the conference) for 3 days = $400 - $600

Food for 3 days = $100

Even for the least amount of money, your are still paying over $600 out of pocket. To many educators, that can be an awfully large sum of money.

What many educators choose to do is pool their resources by sharing rooms with either one or several other people. It reminds me of a time when a half dozen college friends booked a single room in Las Vegas. Call me picky, but this has never been appealing nor a real option for me. I love my down time, and rooming with people gives me major anxiety. However, can you imagine the amount of bonding time I actually miss out on. I sometimes feel like I'm not even thought about being included in events because I'm not always around or hanging out with a group. Believe you me, it's something I've often thought about, but still can't bring myself to become one of the gang. Similarly, many sex educators choose to stay with friends whilst they are travelling for workshops. I find it lovely and amazing that others can be so welcoming to visiting speakers, but it's another situation I will never find myself in. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I find it difficult I will ever fit in because I haven't had many of the shared experiences of those in the sexuality community. Sometimes it seems like the only thing we have in common is that we are working in the sexuality profession.

I can feel that the time is getting close for me to make some kind of decision as far as what I should do with my company and being a sex educator in general. I'm dismayed with the realization that there has been little that I have missed by being away from the sexuality profession. But because I'm stubborn and don't want to "fail" it's hard to think about packing up my dildos and vibrators when I get truly amazing letters from people who have searched me down looking for coaching because one of their friends took my fellatio course and said that it "changed her life!". It's not at all uncommon for me to hear that people and their friends still talk about a workshop I gave over 2 or 3 or 4 years ago. I mean, come on, that blows my mind.

I'm fully aware that some people in the sex educator community might read this post and thing I am even a bigger bitch than they thought. I'm not looking for a debate. In fact, if you are looking to engage in one, please go elsewhere. And if you still want to throw down with me, all I can say is "suck it!"

PS Even though I talk about situations and people, I would never publicly call any individual out on anything

02/19/2014

Ok, so here's the deal--I was really hoping that, after going the single most difficult time in my life, 2014 would prove to be much brighter.

Most of you know that I have drastically reduced my work due to a number of ridiculous circumstances. I was incredibly fortunate that I was able to travel to Boston in 2013 to be a featured speaker at Harvard University, Graduate School of Arts and Sciences. I had an amazing time, and the invitation came at the perfect time as it was in between treatments that my husband was going through. Incidentally, Harvard was the only speaking engagement I accepted for all of 2013.

I was surprised when Harvard invited me back for 2014. My Harvard contact could not be more lovely, bright, grounded, and intelligent. I was even more excited this year because I was able to get my BFF to come along with me and be a co-presenter for one of the sessions. I'm not kidding when I say that we have tried to take some sort of trip together for about 10 years. Of course, this would have been a working trip, but getting some quality time with him was what I was really looking forward to.

Last week my husband and I received some incredibly troubling news regarding his most recent medical scan. To say I was surprised would be a huge understatement. After all, he was 100% compliant with all 4 stages of his comprehensive treatment plan. I honestly thought that the darkness from 2013 was finally over.

I've already readily admitted that I can hold a grudge like no one else. What can I say, it's part of my charm! Now, you would think that at least one of my husbands' family members would have taken a moment to thank me for all that I did last year. After all, he is an only child. Do I sound bitter? You betcha! Sometimes it feels like everyone else EXCEPT his family can plainly see how devoted I am to him.

I've been with my husband longer than I have not been with him. In short, we've been a couple for over 22 years. That is a hell of a long time! I'm lucky that our relationship has never seemed like work. Many people subscribe to the belief that relationships are hard. Even after all this time, I never, ever feel that way.

The news we received has left me feeling shocked, numb, pissed the fuck off, confused, and scared as hell. We've been a couple so long that it is almost impossible for me to even begin to consider a life without him.

I should probably make it clear that my feelings are probably very premature as there is not a definitive diagnosis as of now. Nevertheless, I think it is only natural for someone to imagine the worst possible outcome. Especially when the foundation of what you thought was true comes to a screeching halt.

So what about Harvard?

As it turns out, the day my husband is scheduled for important diagnostic testing happens to be the exact day that I was scheduled to speak at Harvard. Seriously, ain't that some shit?! Because my BFF had already purchased his ticket, it made the current situation a little more difficult. My immediate instinct was to cancel my trip. On the other hand, my lovingly supportive husband felt that going would be good for me (especially since I had my BFF with me for support). After talking about it with my BFF, he felt that it would be the best course to cancel. I couldn't love him any more than I already do. He recommenced I stay even after purchasing a non refundable ticket. If you know him, then you would realize that this is no small gesture. He is known for being ridiculously frugal! PS, If you're reading this, you know I love you!

It also turns out that my friend and contact at Harvard said that me coming to speak was not even a topic that was on the table to discuss. She insisted that family comes first, and that Harvard will always be there when things settle down.

100 gold stars to those who got my blog title in relation to the 1978 movie "Heaven Can Wait"

Probably one of the most disheartening realities over the past year and half is how little support I have gotten from people in my field. It honestly seemed that the only reason any person reached out to me was to offer taking over any coaching clients. I'm not even making this up. Of course, this is not true of everyone. I have received some much needed and wonderful support from a few people in the community.

I have no problem declaring that I am scared as hell. Ask anyone who has had to wait for a diagnosis regarding a serious medical condition. It is excruciating. You want to stay positive, but it is just too easy to begin imagining the worst case scenarios.

I know that my husband needs me more than Harvard does right now. I'm just glad to know that it will be waiting for me when things calm down around the Toyooka household.

01/13/2014

Well, I'm pretty certain that I am not all the way back, but I am declaring it a good start.

You might recall that my hubby an I were supposed to vacation at a little private island off of the Florida Keys in 2012. I was heartbroken--really heartbroken--when, the day before we were to fly out, we had to cancel the trip due to the hurricane. Ever the trooper, my hubby did something completely un-like him and booked us a week long stay at the St. Regis in Kauai. Less than 24 hours later, we were drinking $18 cocktails and had our feet in the sand.

Although it was not what I had planned, it turned out to be a lovely and relaxing trip. It's a good thing, too. Why? Because my life quickly became a series of ridiculously horrible experiences that, if I had not lived it, would have thought I were making it up to gain sympathy. Alas, it was all too true.

I'm not going to bore you with the specifics of what happened, because you can go back over my blog posts and check it out for yourself if you are so inclined.

I will say that, after being out of work on disability for over 8 months, my husband is now back to work full time. His exhaustive treatment included 4 phases that lasted almost a full year.

Some say that a major illness can put a ton of stress on a marriage. I found that it brought us even closer together. I wanted my husband to feel like, even though he was the one who was sick, we were in it together. I greatly scaled back my work to be able to coordinate almost every aspect of his preliminary diagnostics (we got 2nd and 3rd opinions) as well as his treatment appointments. I drove him the 90 miles round trip to where he was getting treated and modified certain aspects of the home so the things he would need would be within reaching distance from him. I'm never one to sugar coat things, but I understood that some of the potential side effects of treatment could be mortifying and could make him feel quite vulnerable. I wanted him to know, implicitly, that we would get through all of this together.

Because his treatment lasted such a long time, I really felt like I needed something to look forward to. I also felt that, after spending a year as a caretaker, I could really use a freaking break. That's when I decided that I would make arrangements to go Little Palm Island. The difference this year is that I decided to go alone. I'm not sure how to describe it, but, I have NEVER had a specific vacation location "call" to me before.

Man, did I get some really strange reactions to me going on a luxury trip by myself. It's as if people looked at me as if I had 2 heads. I don't understand the issue, really. I'm great company, and was really looking forward to having "me" time. I guess there was also a concern about the overall cost.

The private boat that takes you to/from the island

The things is, I knew that I could absolutely appreciate spending the money for something that I felt was a once in a lifetime vacation. Knowing my husband the way I do, I knew he would be more caught up on the price which would most likely make the trip less fun. By the way, it wasn't the first time I took a solo vacation, but it was the first time going to any place this fancy. And by fancy, I mean expensive. I bit the bullet, prepaid for the trip, and very much looked forward to my upcoming luxurious vacation.

All I can say, you guys, is that NOTHING in my life sufficiently prepared me for just how glorious this trip was. Even though I know it was a multiple award-winning property, it exceeded every expectation!

Here are some of the awards Little Palm Island has received in the past few years:

Travel & Leisure "America's Best Beach Hotels", multiple years

Conde Naste "Top 500 Greatest Hotels in the World", multiple years

Trip Advisor "Certificate of Excellence", 2013

Wine Spectator "Award of Excellence"

It totally helped and delighted me to see that the island's signature, yummy tropical alcoholic beverage was waiting for me as I checked in. Seriously, it was just like the opening sequence from the TV show Fantasy Island. The karma gods were totally on my side when the boat captain told me that I was being upgraded for 4 out of

(you can also substitute the 3 juices for POG (pineapple/orange/guava) juice)

What I soon found out is that I got THE BEST suite on the whole island! Holy shit balls! It was over 1000 sq feet and here are just a few of the extras I had by being given this suite; my own private pathway that was so secluded I never heard anyone else around me, private boat slip with a double seat cabana, hot tub with a crazy outside lounge bed, hammock, fire-pit (I made s'mores!), outdoor (and indoor) shower, and the biggest copper bathtub I have ever feasted my eyes on. I'm not kidding about the tub. I'm approximately 5'4 and my toes barely touched the other side when I was fully reclined!

I ended up spending 5 nights in the honeymoon suite and moved to a somewhat smaller, but equally extravagant suite for my last 2 nights. I honestly could not have been more surprised and appreciative of all the upgrades I was gifted. It was a an incredibly generous offer on behalf of the island.

This is just coconuts!

One of the things I was most looking forward to was the island policy of no cellphones in public spaces. Of course, you could take pictures, and text all you want. They just don't

I got photo-bombed by a key deer!

want you to be bothered by overhearing cell phone calls. The other policy I was looking forward to was no kids under 16 allowed.

I can't say enough about how fantastic this trip was. I had never been to a resort where tipping is not expected nor encouraged, and there was no surcharge for room service. I took the liberty of having my breakfast outside on my suite deck each morning. Probably one of the craziest things was not having to sign my name for any dining room or bar charges....seriously, they just knew who I was! Also, I was more likely to be "photo bombed" by the key deer than any other island guest!

Their official motto is "get lost", but it really should be "whatever you want, we got it (or can get it)!"

My new happy place!

This was the single most healing vacation I have ever taken! The last time I was in the Florida Keys was for spring break in 1989. As many of you know, I recently lost my father. It was a terrible, horrible, gut wrenching experience. Somehow, it felt more cruel as I lost my mom less than 4 years before--his passing at the exact time my husband learned of his illness was what officially made my life ridiculous!

My parents and I have always had a special relationship with Florida as my family owned a home on Sanibel Island. My mom even had a "semi-native" bumper sticker on her car for many years. Each year my family would look forward to spending our spring break on Sanibel and had a tradition of renting a speed boat for a day every fathers day. Some of my most favorite memories are from these trips. Even in the 70's and 80's renting a speedboat for a day was not cheap. We pooled our money for the special day. That's why I was surprised to learn that the island owned 3 speedboats that guests could take out for FREE.

I can't tell you what a cosmically special surprise it was for me to see a beautiful rainbow when I took one of the speedboats out. I nearly cried because I honestly felt like my

Hi from Mom & Dad

parents were both saying hi and that they loved me. I would not have caught sight of the rainbow had I not decided to take the boat out for a spin.

I left the island feeling completely refreshed and relaxed. It also made me feel like I was much less of a broken person.

Of course, you are probably wondering how much all of this cost me? Because of the all the upgrades, the trip could have cost more than $15k for just me. Relax. I didn't pay close to that amount. Still, if you are willing to part with a cool 5 figures, then this is the place for you! I can't help but quote Ferris Bueller when talking about the Ferrari he drove in the movie, "if you have the means, I highly recommend picking up one!" Incidentally, I have happened upon some recent studies showing that people who spend their money on experiences rather than material things are happier in life. As someone who has done my fair share of stimulating the economy, I can safely say that this trip brought more joy and peace to my life over almost any piece of fine jewelry I have purchased.

I've been trying to come to terms with the fact that I have had an incredibly financially privileged life. Whether it is said or not, I have often felt that others judge my lifestyle. One of my most favorite sayings is telling people to "suck it", and that is exactly what I say to anyone who reads this post and judges me! After over a year of absolute shit, I am worth it, worth it, worth it!

I came back from vacation feeling much more like "me". I still have a great deal of work to do in order to make sense of all that has transpired over the past year and a half. I think I can safely say that I feel as if I am beginning to get my groove back!